


Inertia

by lily_zen



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Alternate Universe - 90s, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Class Differences, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Riot Grrrl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 04:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_zen/pseuds/lily_zen
Summary: Haruka is a struggling musician in the Riot Grrrl movement looking for a big break, or at least a medium one, when she's approached by Michiru, who's putting together a new zine. She's not sure what she's more excited about: the article or the girl writing it.





	Inertia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Creative_Cloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creative_Cloud/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Ally! As always, it's late because time is a social construct.
> 
> This is my first time writing a Sailor Moon fic in like fifteen years, damn. I love these girls.

The room was smoky, the overhead lights dimmed so that the brightest spot in the room was the stage Haruka stood upon, fingers poised on the bridge of her guitar, pick clutched between her thumb and middle finger. It wasn’t so much a stage as it was a platform. On normal days, a single mic and stool were all that stood there for weekly poetry slams. But this wasn’t a normal day at Coffee Haus. It was Saturday open mic night, and Haruka’s band, Triple Moon, had clawed their way to being the closing act, and it was fucking go time. After enduring hours of singer-songwriters and boys who knew enough guitar chords to get laid, it was time for Triple Moon to shine.

 

Rei stepped up to the mic, her raven’s wing hair pulled back into twin buns, an oversized flannel slipping down one shoulder. She bounced from foot to foot in her red Doc Martens. “Hey, everybody,” she crowed a safe distance from the shitty mic so it wouldn’t give her feedback. Besides, her voice was loud enough to carry in the coffee shop without it. “Big round of applause to tonight’s acts, and thanks to our hosts here at Coffee Haus.”

 

There were scattered applause and whoops in the room, but most people were busy sipping out of mugs or sucking on their cigarettes, clustered around tiny tables and mismatched used furniture.

 

“We are your last act for the evening. Please stick around afterward and cast your votes for your favorite. Winner this week gets a gift certificate to Music World, so you can imagine we’re all frothing at the mouth.”

 

A few laughs followed that.

 

Makoto took her cue from Rei’s lapse into silence. From the corner of her eye, Haruka watched her raise her drumsticks overhead, biceps bulging in her cut-off muscle tee. “One-two-three, go!” she shouted, tapping them together.

 

Tick-a, tack-a, bang went the opening beats, and then Haruka came in on her guitar, strings digging into her fingers as she played.

 

Rei’s voice filled up the space, lacking the brash girlishness of Kathleen Hanna, but making up for it by alternating impassioned roars with brokenhearted whispers.

 

Haruka looked out at the crowd, some faces interested, others turned toward private conversations. One guy was literally doing a crossword puzzle. It was as she was leaning in to the second mic, ready to lend her smooth alto to Rei’s mezzo-soprano, that she saw the girl creeping up to the front of the room, a camera stuck to her face. Her wavy, kool-aid blue hair was bunched up carelessly on top of her head. She had an old Clash t-shirt tucked into a pair of plaid pants. On scuffed Doc Martens, the preferred footwear of the grunge movement, she was inching forward step by step, crouched low to get the stage in the shot.

 

Haruka saw her fiddle with the dials on top, the press the shutter. There was no flash, being considerate of the performers and those nearby, not wanting to break the ambiance.

 

Rei, seeing the photographer, started gripping the mic, pinching her face in dramatic anguish, wailing about the patriarchy and how Firestone was right.

 

Haruka felt her lips curl, cocky and sensual as she rumbled the harmony into the mic: “Daddy’s got a brand new knife, and I got my whetstone tonight.”

 

The photographer was shifting around again, crawling in front of the closest tables, lens tilted up at Haruka.

 

She didn’t know how she knew, but she felt the heaviness of the gaze upon her, a sudden awareness of her breasts and terrible posture. She straightened her shoulders to look better in the picture.

 

“Daddy’s gonna kill me right, but I’m not gonna stop the fight,” Haruka shouted, and then winked down at the photographer. She couldn’t resist anymore.

 

At that, the girl seemed to stutter, lowering her camera in surprise. She looked up at Haruka, all huge owl eyes, blinked like she was waking up from a long sleep, and finally gave a half-smile in response. Then it was back to pictures, and Haruka was back to performing, hitting the last chords as Rei screamed her last scream of the night.

 

The applause was louder than it had been for the other acts. They tended to get the crowd going, small though their band was. Rei had stage presence, and Makoto and Haruka were skilled with their instruments. Makoto started on drums when she was still in elementary. Haruka picked up a guitar in middle school when she’d gotten obsessed with The Runaways and never looked back. They knew what they were doing.

 

“Thanks, everybody! This has been Triple Moon, and that was our song ‘Daddy’s Little Bitch.’ You want more, come check us out at Chad’s Bar tomorrow night at eight. Have a great night!” Rei shouted and waved, then posed with a peace sign as the photographer took one last photo of them and backed away.

 

The shitty part of getting the last slot of the night was that they had to do clean-up. It had been part of the deal she’d made with her boss, Setsuna. So in addition to rolling up cables and packing up amps, Haruka was responsible for restoring the stage to order. It took over an hour, and by that time, the photographer was gone.

 

Haruka leaned against the coffee bar with a little sigh.

 

Setsuna slid an empty coffee pot across the counter at her, and nodded toward the tables. “Why don’t you collect the votes? You can tally them up during your shift tomorrow.”

 

“Sure thing,” Haruka agreed, pushing off again. Technically she wasn’t clocked in, but Setsuna had done her a solid tonight. Triple Moon was struggling, and if they wanted paying gigs, they had to get the word out as much as they could. She figured if this paid off, it was worth sacrificing an hour of pay.

 

* * *

 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

The voice, soft and feminine, brought Haruka spinning around to face the register, restocking forgotten. That was her job, after all: serve the customers. Sometimes she hated it, but only when she got busy professionals and soccer moms hurrying between dropping their kids off and picking them up again. Those were the ones that tended to bitch about the pricing, about how long it could take to fill orders. Listen, she wanted to yell, don’t like it then go to Starbucks.

 

But this girl was one of her people. This was the photographer from the night before. The knot of kool-aid blue hair on her head was unmistakable. And now that Haruka was looking at her face, she could tell she’d been there before. She’d seen her holed up at a table, face buried in a sketchbook, hand flying over the page.

 

“Hi, um,” she laughed a little, tucking a flyaway behind her ear. “Can I order or do you need to finish your restock first?”

 

Haruka blinked, mind running a little slow. Then she startled, shook her head and replied, “No, I can take your order now. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come up. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

 

The girl waved an elegant hand stained with graphite. “No, not long at all.”

 

As Haruka keyed into the register, the blue-haired girl peered into the baked goods case.

 

“I think I’m gonna snag one of those scones,” she finally said.

 

“Good choice,” Haruka agreed.

 

“And a double espresso.”

 

She punched in the order and read off the total.

 

The blue haired girl fished a ten out of her front pocket and handed it over in a crumpled fold.

 

Haruka stabbed the cash button, the way most people paid, and caught the till before it could hit her in the solar plexus. It was an old register, pretty basic, and temperamental to boot. The owner, far more interested in coffee than in calculations, shrugged off the cashiers’ concerns. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” she’d say.

 

Handing back the change, Haruka said, “If you want to grab a seat, I’ll bring it out to you when it’s ready.”

 

Smiling, the blue haired girl dipped her chin, looking down her nose through round, wire-framed glasses. “Thank you so much. Usually I wait, but…”

 

“You’ve got a lot of stuff with you,” Haruka replied, nodding to the heavy messenger bag weighing down one shoulder. “Go get comfy. It’s no trouble.” She ignored the fact that she normally never offered table service. She was usually way too busy behind the counter and called out orders to save on time.

 

“Thanks,” the girl repeated, then turned to strut away in her Doc Martens and find a table with good lighting.

 

Haruka kept an eye on her as she tamped the grounds, pulling art supplies out of her bag and a small moleskine notebook she set nearby.

 

She seemed to take her time getting organized, particular with the angle of her seat and the spacing between her tools, but once she was settled in, the blue-haired girl appeared ready to work. Ready for something, at least. She kept glancing up at Haruka, watching her work, waiting expectantly.

 

It made Haruka feel flushed and bumbling in a way few things did. She took extra care setting the espresso cup on the saucer, wiping up the little droplet she’d splashed over the edge. The scone warmed up quickly in the toaster oven and was placed on a mismatched plate. She even remembered to grab a roll of silverware.

 

The blue haired girl smiled as Haruka walked to her table, standing up to accept her food. “Thank you so much,” she repeated. “You really didn’t have to.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Haruka said again.

 

A kind smile, then the girl set her food and drink down in spots that had been clearly designated for them.

 

Haruka started to head back to the counter when the girl stepped toward her, one stained but delicate hand poised in the air. “Do you have a moment? I, um, I’d love to speak with you.”

 

Pulling up short, Haruka looked up in surprise.

 

“It’s about your performance last night,” the photographer explained. “I’d love to, um, well, run an idea by you.”

 

There was a customer at the register though, and as much as she wanted to, Haruka couldn’t let them wait.

 

“I’m on shift right now, but if you can wait until my break, I’d be happy to,” she replied.

 

The girl’s smile was beneficent. “I’ll wait,” she said.

 

When Haruka looked back, she was seated again, sipping from a sturdy cream colored teacup with a thin brown line as decoration near the top. Her eyes, huge behind her glasses and a soft, warm coffee color, watched Haruka work. She couldn’t see her mouth, but the way her eyelids curved said she was smiling again. Flustered, Haruka forgot to flirt for tips.

 

It wasn’t until Usa clocked in that Haruka got to take her break.

 

“Prep for lunch rush while I’m on break?” Haruka asked her.

 

The bottle blonde nodded enthusiastically, pulling her long hair up into a thick but efficient bun. “You got it. Just go chill for a minute.”

 

So Haruka, feeling confident in her coworker’s ability, grabbed a glass of water from the dispenser they kept on the counter and stole one of Usa’s frosted cookies from the bakery display.

 

She slid into the seat across from the photographer, who was preoccupied with sketching, but quickly put her tools down to focus totally on Haruka.

 

“Oh,” she blinked, wide-eyed behind her glasses, “you’re done. That was fast.”

 

“It’s been over two hours,” Haruka teased.

 

She blinked again. “Oh.” The tone different that time, a little more self-deprecating. Then, “I’m Michiru.”

 

“Haruka.”

 

“Nice to meet you.”

 

“So,” Haruka prompted, “you wanted to speak to me?”

 

“Ah, yes.” Michiru tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sure you saw me crawling around on the floor taking pictures last night.”

 

Haruka smirked just a little. “I did.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Michiru began what must have been a rehearsed explanation, but as she spoke, the shyness began to drop away, revealing cool confidence that Haruka thought was even more appealing. “I’m involved in a campus group called Alt Press. It’s less of a group, more of a, um, coalition, I guess, for increasing diversity in publication. Our new venture this semester is a riot grrrl zine called Lip, which I would like to feature your band, Triple Moon, in.”

 

“Cool,” Haruka nodded to herself, not really signing off on it just yet even though this was potentially the biggest break they’d had since forming. “In what capacity?”

 

“I thought perhaps we could do an interview featuring some of my photography, maybe you guys might want to allow us to publish some of your lyrics? The song you did last night was interesting. I’m sure our audience would love to see it.” Michiru fidgeted, picking up a drawing pencil to tap on her sketchbook. “If you want, I could show you a mock-up of what we have so far?”

 

“That’d be cool, yeah,” Haruka agreed, trying not to show how much she was freaking out. Rei and Makoto would lose their shit when she told them about this.

 

Michiru flipped an orange-flagged section of her sketchbook, turning it to face Haruka. At her look, she shrugged self-consciously. “I like to keep everything together, so I do all my work on sketch paper first.”

 

“No hate. I record all my practice and jams just in case I come up with something cool and can’t remember it five minutes later,” Haruka replied, leaning over the sketchbook to look at page mock-ups, headlines written out or collaged in, notes on post-its taking the place of pages.

 

“I’ve been looking for a really good musical act to feature in our first issue,” Michiru explained, “but I wanna keep it local, keep the focus on feminist activism happening right here instead of like, well, Seattle-proper. But it’s harder than I thought it would be finding women that are actually out there doing shows and being bitches out in public. There’s a few good solo artists...”

 

“But really nobody in the rock scene but us,” Haruka finished for her, nodding as she turned the page to the next set of the layouts.

 

“Exactly,” Michiru agreed. “And while I am all about supporting my fellow women, I really wanted to start this issue off with a bang.”

 

“I do love banging,” Haruka commented breezily, then looked up when she realized what she’d said. She and Michiru shared a moment of loaded silence, then the artist was looking down at her fidgety hands, giggling lightly.

 

“Well, who doesn’t?” Michiru chuckled.

 

Grinning jauntily, Haruka said, “Alright, well, this all sounds good, but I have to discuss it with my band members first. We’ve got practice this afternoon, so how about I give you a call after?”

 

“That would be great. Thank you, Haruka.” Turning to a fresh page in her sketchbook, Michiru wrote out two phone numbers, labeling the top one ‘DORM’ and the bottom one ‘OFFICE.’ “I’m usually at my dorm, but the phone is communal, no answering machine. If you call and I’m not around, you can leave me a message at the Alt Press office, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Just make sure you say the message is for me, because everybody uses it.”

 

“Got it,” Haruka agreed, carefully folding up the rough, thick paper, and sticking it in the breast pocket of her button-down, another flannel, this one green instead of red. “This has been...an interesting conversation. It was nice meeting you, Michiru.”

 

The artist smiled, that mysterious grin that was steadily bewitching Haruka. “It was nice meeting you too. I hope to hear from you soon.”

 

Haruka went back to work to finish up her shift then, and Michiru quietly packed her things up so she could leave before the lunch rush hit. The rest of the morning, there was a strange, buzzing energy in Haruka’s blood. She couldn’t wait to talk to the girls. She couldn’t wait to talk to Michiru again.

 

* * *

 

 

Triple Moon practiced in Rei’s garage, a humble space with poured concrete floors and walls that were just the frame, no insulation. It was detached from the house though, so her grandparents didn’t mind the noise, and they’d long accepted their deteriorating eyesight, so they didn’t own a car. That meant the garage was just storage space for them, or it had been until the girls cleaned it out for their use.

 

Makoto’s stoner van was already parked in the alley by the time Haruka pulled up, the long side painted with their band’s logo. They’d all been sad to see the She-ra mural go, but they agreed that the free advertising made more sense.

 

Haruka left her little Toyota unlocked, because there was nothing inside worth stealing anyway, and walked through the gate to the backyard, waving at Rei’s grandpa outside on the stoop smoking.

 

He squinted his beady eyes at her, then brightened, waving back upon recognition.

 

They didn’t shout to each other or insist on a formal greeting. Rei’s house wasn’t like that, which was good because neither was Haruka’s, so her manners sucked. Her family had wanted to be as American as possible when they came here. She didn’t even speak Japanese.

 

Haruka popped open the side door to the garage, giving a little kick at the bottom where the door always stuck in the frame, and was immediately greeted with, “Ey!”

 

Makoto and Rei were drinking pilfered beers on the old 70s-style loveseat they’d found and dragged home, an ugly thing covered in brown and orange weave, though the arms and legs were sturdy, dark wood. Makoto was sitting on one, it being wide and flat enough to take the weight. She cheered Haruka. “Here comes the prodigal son!”

 

“Bitch,” Haruka laughed, going over to the huge, rounded fridge that hummed away, storing all the Hinos’ extra meat because any day now the store might run out. That, and the beer. “My tits are small but mighty,” Haruka said as she popped the top on a Sapporo.

 

Laughter followed the teasing as Haruka took a sip of the cold brew, licked her lips, then launched right into, “Well, I got approached today by this chick who wants to feature us in a local riot grrrl zine.”

 

“Shit, no way!” Makoto shouted, her face lighting up even in the gloom of the garage.

 

Rei gasped, then said triumphantly, “I told you my tarot deck never lies. I pulled the Ace of Pentacles the other day and said, ‘Good things are gonna happen for us,’ and you guys both laughed. Well, who’s laughing now, unbelievers?” She flailed her fists excitedly, almost like she was boxing the air, then collapsed into a gleeful Makoto’s lap looking blissful.

 

It was true, this could potentially be a huge break for them.

 

“Her name’s Michiru,” Haruka told them. “She’s a university student, works over at Alt Press.”

 

“Ooh, I love them,” Makoto intoned. “They publish my favorite rock zine.”

 

Ignoring the potential to get derailed, Haruka leaned back against the fridge, took a pull off her longneck, and said, “She wants to do an interview. That okay with you guys?”

 

“Yes!” Rei and Makoto both shouted, loud enough to startle Haruka and make her laugh.

 

“Alright, alright.” Haruka made a ‘simmer down’ motion with one hand. “I gotta call her then.”

 

“You can use the house phone,” Rei volunteered immediately. She handed her beer off to Makoto and sprang up off the sofa. “Come on, come on,” she gestured eagerly, hopping toward the door.

 

They walked the short distance from the garage to the house, avoiding the elaborate gardens that dotted the yard.

 

Rei pulled open the back screen door with a creak, then called inside, “Grandma? Grandpa? Haruka has to use the phone!”

 

“That’s okay!” her grandmother called from somewhere else in the house.

 

Rei waved Haruka into the kitchen. Their home was small with no formal dining room, so a small rectangular table was the first thing she saw. The phone was hooked on the wall, one of those older ones with the really long cord that stretched all through the house.

 

Perching on a step stool, Rei watched as Haruka fumbled in her pocket for Michiru’s number.

 

She tried Michiru’s dorm first, but the girl who picked up said Michiru’s room was empty.

 

“You want me to leave a message? She’s got a pin board on her door,” her floormate explained.

 

“Nah, but thanks,” Haruka replied.

 

Hanging up, she dialed the Alt Press office and got the machine. “This message is for Michiru. Michiru, this is Haruka with Triple Moon. I talked to the girls; they’re down. Um, I’m at Rei’s right now for practice…” She rattled off the number reflexively, then paused as Rei frantically scribbled on a notepad, and turned it to face her.

 

‘THE GIG’ it read in all caps.

 

“We have a gig tonight at Chad’s Bar,” Haruka continued slowly, encouraged by Rei’s double thumbs up, “at eight, so I won’t be home until late, but my number there is…”

 

After she put the phone back on the cradle, Rei crowed triumphantly, flinging her arms around Haruka. “This is so exciting!” she squealed.

 

Haruka laughed, returning the hug while they rocked slightly from foot to foot. “It is,” she agreed, leaning her cheek against Rei’s soft, dark hair, a little flushed with wonder herself. It finally felt like something might be happening for them.

 

* * *

 

 

Chad’s was a dim lit hole-in-the-wall that still served PBR on tap, and for that reason, and the fact that Chad was a hella burnout who sometimes smoked up his customers, all the subculture kids - the grunge kids, the punks, feminists, art kids, even some of the goth crowd - tended to hang out there. For as shitty as the bar itself was, the music was always rocking, and the crowd always chill.

 

Haruka and the girls set up their stage while the bar was still mostly empty, a few older guys from the five o’ clock crowd still at the bar top, a few younger ones clustered at tables playing cards and flipping through textbooks. It was always like this early in the night, just barely a pulse. It’d pick up before the show, but the real busy time was ten to one AM; those were also the hardest slots to get. Triple Moon didn’t have the pull to get those yet.

 

As they set up and did their soundcheck, Haruka kept one eye on their surroundings, watching bodies trickle in and fill up the tables, unreasonably disappointed at every body that wasn’t Michiru.

 

Makoto was checking her kit setup, running through drills to make sure everything was set up according to her standards.

 

Rei wore a black jumper and army jacket, their obligatory cute frontwoman. She was leaned up against the bar, flirting with her girlfriend, the two of them ignoring the sidelong stares of straight men busy picturing them having sex.

 

Haruka checked her tuning, watching the tables fill up, knowing that Rei would break off soon to do her own warm-ups.

 

Sure enough, ten minutes to showtime, Rei leaned over, gave Usa a little kiss on the cheek, and swept up to the stage.

 

“You guys good?” she asked.

 

“Yeah,” Haruka nodded.

 

“Just waiting on you, babe,” Makoto shot back.

 

Triple-checking her mic, Rei leaned in and murmured, “Check one, two. Check. Boys are smelly. Pussy power for life.”

 

Usa and a few other women cheered around the bar.

 

She warmed up with scales and arpeggios, stepping back from the mic to do so because nobody really needed to hear that, and projecting was, in itself, a good exercise. It was when Rei hummed the opening notes of Blondie’s “One Way or Another,” her preferred warm-up number, that they knew it was time to go.

 

Their cover of the punk classic was a stripped down version of the original, Rei’s voice haunting and deep, pushing the creep factor of the lyrics to another level. “I will drive past your house, and if the lights are all down…”

 

Haruka smirked to herself. Of course Rei’s favorite warm-up song was going to be about a stalker ex-boyfriend. Bless Debbie Harry, she was out there telling the real shit since day one.

 

Haruka was playing the closing bars when she saw Michiru slip through the crowd like a ghost, blue hair still knotted back from her face, pale, white-washed jeans and plain white tee almost seeming to glow in the midst of a sea of flannel and edgy leather jackets. She had that camera in front of her face again, but Haruka knew it was her, could tell by her careful steps, ever-poised in these dingy surroundings. She almost missed the last chord.

 

“You all having a good time tonight?” Rei wailed into the mic.

 

A few cheers came back at her.

 

“Well, let’s see if we can make it better,” she winked, and they launched into the next song on their set, an original with lyrics adapted from one of Rei’s poems. It was loud and angry, dominated by Makoto’s drum line, and exactly what the crowd needed to shake off the week and turn their attention to the stage.

 

Michiru crept into a better position, heading for stage right so she could get clear shots of the band around the few people that were beginning to stand up and cluster around the stage. Her camera was up, but again, no flash.

 

At the beginning of their third song - another cover, this time Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation,” because everybody liked some Joan Jett - Michiru moved stage left, and Haruka felt her presence like an electric shock. Somehow she felt the weight of the photographer’s gaze through the lens, the click-click of the zoom and her laser-like focus. Somehow Haruka knew that she was the focus of these shots in her wrinkled plaid shirt and her brother’s hand-me-down AC-DC tee. She felt underdressed and overwhelmed, sweat breaking out at her hairline.

 

The cover transitioned into another original, this one with more of a singer-songwriter feel to it, just Rei’s mournful soprano backed with Haruka’s throaty alto and a throbbing, sparse guitar. Makoto switched out her usual kit for a large hand drum they’d scored at a rummage sale last summer, the deep, acoustic thrum like a pulse.

 

“I missed your love like a summer sun blister,” Rei confessed in an aching whisper, clutching the mic in anguish. She had her mouth so close to the mic, eyes squeezed shut tight. “I missed your love though we hadn’t even kissed yet.”

 

For some reason, Haruka looked into the camera lens then. She made eye contact with Michiru as she crooned into her mic, feeling powerful and sensual: “I missed your love like a lie.” She saw Michiru’s lips part just beneath the camera’s edge. Just a little. And whatever was on her face then, Haruka felt it like a gunshot as Michiru’s steady fingers captured it.

 

They met at the bar after takedown, Makoto’s van packed up with their equipment and instruments again.

 

Haruka ordered beer on tap.

 

Michiru got a triple snake bite on the rocks that she sipped at, her dark eyes eyeing the three of them inscrutably. Then she offered a little smile. “You guys were good. I liked your set. You’ve got some songs everybody knows in there, which endears you to the crowd; some hard-hitting tracks; then that kinda sapphic goddess-worship schtick. It’s cool. You got your own thing going on.”

 

Rei smiled and blushed, though she was sitting with her arm thrown over Usa’s shoulders. “That’s me, I guess,” she said. She said it with the abashedness of someone who’d had to explain themselves many times before, and was used to being picked on. “I got really into paganism a few years ago. Dianic wicca, mostly. It creeps in my writing.”

 

“It’s nice,” Michiru repeated soothingly. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t think so. Your love song was superb as well. I wasn’t expecting that.”

 

With no small hint of pride, Rei jumped in and said, “Oh, that was all Haruka. Behind this butch exterior lies a soft bitch.” She playfully reached over to tap Haruka’s bicep.

 

Haruka felt the flush crawl up her chest and settle in her cheeks. “Rei,” she definitely did not whine.

 

Michiru joined Makoto in laughing at her response, although the photographer’s seemed lighter. “Well, that’s definitely something to talk about in our interview. Speaking of, let’s go ahead and schedule that while we’re all here.”

 

Reaching into the camera bag she’d brought with, Michiru rummaged until she pulled out a thick planner. She flipped to the correct week, scanned it, then said, “I’m free Tuesday afternoon.”

 

“Can’t,” Makoto said. “Work.”

 

“Wednesday morning?”

 

Rei winced. “I have classes all day.”

 

“Oh? Are you on campus?” Michiru asked, curious.

 

Shaking her head, Rei was quick to say, “No. Um, I’m taking my gen reqs at the technical college. Cheaper.”

 

She sounded embarrassed, but Haruka didn’t think she should be. Anyway, she was doing better than Haruka, who was three years out of high school and still had no clue what she was doing. If she was honest, she really didn’t want to do anything but music, and she certainly couldn’t afford tuition. It was okay though, she and Makoto made good roommates and had no problem doing side jobs to make ends meet.

 

Michiru, perhaps sensing Rei’s embarrassment, explained, “I only asked because if you were, we could squeeze something in between classes. That being said, what about Thursday night? I’m free after five.”

 

Thursday was band practice, but that might be all the time they had, so Haruka said, “Thursday evening would be fine. Could you meet us at our practice space at, like, six-ish?”

 

“Oh, yeah, that’d be perfect,” Michiru agreed. “Gives me time to grab something to eat.”

 

“Warning,” Rei chuckled. “Our practice space is literally my garage.”

 

“Oh, wonderful,” Michiru said, genuinely enthused. “Do you mind if I bring my camera? Snap a few shots? I still have no idea what I’m using for the article, but better to have t _oo much_ than not enough, you know?”

 

Haruka and Makoto both looked to Rei. It was her place, so it should be her choice.

 

Rei waved a dismissive hand. “That’s fine. Just, you know, be aware that it really is a garage. There’s tools on the walls and stuff. It’s not glamorous.”

 

“I consider myself fully warned.”

 

Michiru stayed a few minutes longer so that she could write down Rei’s address and finish her drink, then begged off the rest of the acts that night. “I have to get to the library early tomorrow. I hope you guys have a lovely evening.”

 

She was warm, offering each of them a parting hug and a kiss to the cheek, something vaguely European in the gesture, but she seemed to squeeze Haruka a moment too long to be polite, abashed when she withdrew.

 

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she waved a last goodbye, then headed out.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite how busy Haruka was with work, the week moved at a crawl until Thursday. She was eager, anticipatory, and maybe she took more time getting ready that day than normal, her hair properly combed and moussed.

 

She brought pastries with her to Rei’s, the day-olds that would just wind up getting tossed tomorrow.

 

Makoto met her with a thermos full of tea and still-warm sausage and fried rice in tupperware. “Great minds,” she said, nodding to the paper sack in Haruka’s hand.

 

She slammed the van door shut, and Haruka leaned in close, boxing her against it to sniff hungrily at the food. Her stomach growled. “Shit, Makoto,” she said, “I owe you big for this. I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.”

 

Her roommate leaned in awkwardly, arms full of food, and hooked her chin over Haruka’s shoulder to hug her, nuzzling her bouncy brown ponytail into Haruka’s cheek. “I figured you wouldn’t have time.” Stepping out of the embrace, Makoto smirked at her. “Now stop trying to kabedon me. That’s gay, Ruka.”

 

“Super gay,” Rei agreed over Haruka’s shoulder. She was leaning out of the yard gate watching them act like saps with fondness in her eyes. “Buncha big ol’ dykes being gay in my backyard.”

 

“Where else are we supposed to be gay?” Haruka teased, stepping back from Makoto and nearly slamming into the hood of her own little Toyota. The only way they could get both cars parked in the alley was to parallel park next to each other on the concrete slab next to the garage. “Front yard affection is for straight people.”

 

“Ooh, self-burn and social commentary rolled in one,” Makoto said. “Your wit’s on fire tonight.”

 

“Hey,” Rei told them as she held the gate open wide, letting them walk through ahead of her, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. As far as the world’s concerned, we’re all just gals being pals.”

 

“Gross,” Makoto huffed, kicking open the side door on the little one-car garage.

 

“Agreed,” Haruka grunted, following behind her.

 

Rei had done some cleaning up in the garage, making sure the tools were put away in their proper spots, either hanging on the wall or closed up in the toolbox on her grandfather’s work bench. The work bench, now cleared off, was lined with newspaper. There was a plate of kimbap and another one with homemade mochi, no doubt her grandmother’s cooking, a stack of cheap paper plates and wooden chopsticks next to it.

 

She’d strung up white Christmas lights along the rafters to give the space more illumination than the 60 watt overhead could provide, turning the space with its weird road signs and beer paraphernalia as decor into something inviting. The sofa was still there in all its atrociousness, but Rei had pulled two of the kitchen chairs outside as well, arranging them around a small table on wheels she’d gotten from who-knew-where. The effect was a cozy, if mismatched, conversation area.

 

Makoto began to coo immediately. “Oh, Rei-Rei, it’s so nice. You didn’t have to do all this. I can’t believe…”

 

Quick to brush the praise off, Rei waved her hands and said, “It wasn’t just me. Usa was so excited for us. She helped me with all the cleaning and the lights. She even found that table - I think it’s a TV cart, actually - at a rummage sale this week and brought it over _on the bus_. Can you believe? She’s such a sweetheart.” She waved toward the work bench. “And the food was my grandma, of course. Grandpa bought us soda too. It’s in the fridge.”

 

“Where’s Usa?” Makoto asked, setting her food down on the bench as well. “I figured she’d want to be here as your personal cheerleader.”

 

Rei made a little unhappy face, the face she made whenever she was trying not to be unhappy with Usa. “She had a prior commitment,” she replied primly, sitting down on the loveseat.

 

Haruka looked over from adding her pastries to the smorgasbord, lifting an eyebrow in question.

 

The singer sighed, dropping the fake attitude. “She’s out with Seiya. It’s their date night.”

 

“Ah.” Haruka nodded sagely.

 

Rei took a deep breath, very obviously trying to be okay with it. This was, after all, part of what she’d agreed to.

 

“Why don’t you guys dig in,” she said, changing the subject. “We already ate supper. I’m gonna have a smoke out front. Hopefully Michiru shows up soon.”

 

“Yeah,” Makoto agreed, already diving into the spread, putting a little bit of everything onto a plate. “I don’t want to delay practice too long. Your neighbors start to bitch if we go past nine.”

 

“Don’t I know it,” Rei agreed, slipping out the side door again.

 

“Thought you were quitting?” Haruka yelled after her.

 

“Get off my back!” Rei trilled back in a mock-cheerful voice.

 

Haruka was wolfing down mouthfuls of warm sausage and rice, drinking fizzy Coke out of a can - brand name, a luxury never had in her apartment - when Rei came back with Michiru in tow.

 

“Hi, everyone,” she waved, eyes landing on Haruka as she froze with chipmunk cheeks tucked full of food. She smiled at the sight. “It’s good to see you again. I’ve been told to help myself to snacks. Is that right?” She turned to Rei for confirmation.

 

“Yeah, it’s right over there,” Rei confirmed, gesturing toward the work bench.

 

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take some pictures first,” Michiru excused herself, setting her bag down on one of the kitchen chairs, sturdy wood things with spindle backs.

 

“Uh,” Haruka hesitated.

 

Rei laughed at her flabbergasted expression. “Yeah, go for it,” she said. “Immortalize us in all our humanity.”

 

“Even rock stars gotta eat,” Michiru teased, pulling her camera out and popping the lens cap off.

 

For show, Rei grabbed a plate and crudely ripped open a croissant, putting some of Makoto’s sausages on it to cobble together a sandwich. She grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped it open one-handed on the old bottle cap opener screwed into the wall, and then joined Haruka and Makoto on the loveseat, her little ass perched on the arm.

 

Michiru stepped back, taking pictures of their set-up in the garage, the food on the workbench, and when she thought the girls weren’t as aware of her anymore, some shots of them sharing food and laughing together.

 

When she felt ready, she capped her camera again, and grabbed a plate for herself, cherry-picking through what was left. She wound up with kimbap - uncommon for a Japanese family to make - and a couple sausage pieces, and some of the mochi because she really could not resist that.

 

Joining them around the small table, Michiru set her food down, and got out her sketchbook with all her notes in it, and a tape recorder.

 

“First, is it okay with you guys if I record our conversation?”

 

“It’s fine,” Makoto agreed with a wave of her chopsticks. “This is what we’re here for, after all.”

 

“Great,” Michiru responded absently, and clicked the device on. She had an empty tape, enough for an hour of recording, and backups in her bag if she needed them. Setting it down on the table, she announced to no one, “This is Michiru Kaioh for Lip zine. Triple Moon interview, tape one. So let’s start with an easy one. Please introduce yourself and your role in the band.”

 

A quick flurry of eye contact confirmed Rei as the first to go. “I’m Rei Hino. I’m the lead vocalist.”

 

“Makoto Kino, drums.”

 

“And I’m Haruka Tenoh, guitar and vocals,” Haruka tacked on at the end, swallowing down the last of her rice.

 

“It’s so nice to meet you, officially.” Michiru smiled. “I have so many questions for you guys. Um, let’s start with,” she paused, glancing down at her notes on the table again, “well, how long have you guys been together?”

 

“Not that long,” Rei said.

 

“Almost two years,” Haruka clarified. “We met when I put out an ad for women musicians.”

 

“Oh? Can you elaborate on that a little? Why women musicians in particular?” Michiru’s eyes looked bright, excited that they were already getting to the good stuff.

 

“Well,” Haruka began, sipping at her soda, “the music scene tends to be male dominated. And I’ve been in bands with guys before. Nothing wrong with it, just that the dynamic tends to be a little different when you’re the only girl. The guys can overrule or ignore you if they don’t like what you’re saying. And performing is, well…” Haruka hesitated, looking to Michiru to see just how much she could say, how much she wanted to hear.

 

Michiru gestured with her chopsticks for her to go on, smiling encouragingly.

 

“The typical audience at a rock show is also mostly men, and there’s a long tradition there of objectifying women. And women who don’t fit that mold of, like, Sandra Dee - you know, Sandra Dee from _Grease_ , when she gets her makeover at the end? Women who don’t wanna look like that, women who look like me,” Haruka gestured down at herself, to her boots and jeans, her long-sleeved thermal she wore underneath a black and red flannel with the sleeves cuffed up, “tend to get harassed and mocked.”

 

Beside her, Makoto’s mouth twisted up in a grimace, agreeing silently. She didn’t present as butch as Haruka did, but the fact that she was a girl who rocked harder on drums than most dudes, and that she preferred more androgynous clothes, was enough to set her apart, to make her a target.

 

“That must be hard,” Michiru responded sympathetically, but her eyes said she knew exactly what Haruka was talking about, knew from experience. “So you decided to find other musicians who were women?”

 

“Yeah,” Haruka nodded her agreement. “I heard about the riot grrrl movement coming out of Olympia, and I went to a few shows, and I was like, ‘Dude, I could do this. I could start a girl band.’ So that’s what I did. I met with a few other interested musicians, but I felt like I gelled the best with Makoto and Rei. I actually knew Rei from high school, so it was cool to reconnect with her.”

 

Michiru looked intrigued, asking them to elaborate.

 

Rei obliged graciously, saying, “She was a junior when I was a freshman. I was, like, in awe of Haruka. Most of the Asian kids I knew were really, um, uptight and, like, really into academics. And here was this girl who dyed her hair and ran track and was _in a band_. Haruka was the coolest.”

 

That startled a laugh out of Michiru, looking at Haruka with interest. “I bet.”

 

“No, no,” Haruka demurred. “I was not cool, trust me. Rei was cool though. I actually knew her from poetry club. She was a really great writer even back then.”

 

“And what about you, Makoto?” Michiru gently guided the interview to loop the drummer back in.

 

Makoto shook her head. “Sadly, I went to school in another district, so my audition was really the first time I met these guys. Man, from the second we started jamming though, I felt that, like, electric shock go through me. I knew I had to get in this band.”

 

“Girl, I’ve never seen anybody play the way you do,” Rei drawled, elbowing her gently. “Makoto’s got rhythm in her blood, and she just lets it out.”

 

“I’ve been playing since I was a kid,” Makoto explained, embarrassed. “It’s literally just...practice.”

 

When they lapsed into silence, Michiru leaned over to peruse her questions again.

 

Makoto popped a mochi in her mouth, chewing silently.

 

“So, um, tell me a little bit about Triple Moon then. Where’s the name come from?” Michiru prompted.

 

Another flurry of glances, then Rei took the lead. “We went back and forth on names for a while. Isn’t that always the hardest part, naming something? I was the one who actually put forward Triple Moon as a suggestion. In, um, Dianic wicca, which I’ve studied for a few years now, there’s this concept of the goddess being represented in three phases. We call them maiden, mother, and crone. These correspond to the waxing, full, and waning moon, and are represented by a symbol called the triple moon.” Gesturing between the three of them, Rei explained, “I thought it was appropriate because, well, there’s three of us, and we’re all goddess worshippers of a sort.”

 

Jumping in quickly, Haruka tacked on, “It places women at the center of things, which is also what I think riot grrrl and similar movements are aiming for. I loved the idea, so after some additional discussion, we decided to go with that.”

 

Michiru waited until Haruka trailed off into silence, looking thoughtful, then she reached forward and stopped the tape. “Just so you know,” she said, looking between each one of them, “you’re allowed to say you’re lesbians. I will still publish this interview. Alt Press does not discriminate. But if you’re not out, or you’re not okay with that being out there, then you need to tell me, because that was hella suggestive and somebody _will_ pick up on it.”

 

Rei took a deep breath, then leaned back against the sofa, relaxing. “Sorry, I, um, spoke carelessly, then didn’t know how to recover. But we are all out.”

 

Taking a long moment, Michiru looked at each one of them, then nodded. “Good to know. Okay, I’m going to turn the recorder back on so we can continue. Everyone okay with that?”

 

“Yep,” Makoto chirped, making a little peace sign with one hand.

 

Haruka wordlessly picked up abandoned plates and dumped them in the trash can as Michiru turned the recorder on again.

 

Her next question was, unsurprisingly, “So you guys consider yourselves to be part of the riot grrrl movement?”

 

“Not exactly,” Rei answered at the same time as Makoto. They smiled at each other sheepishly, then Rei gestured for Makoto to go on.

 

“Riot grrrl is technically an off-shoot of the punk movement, and I don’t know that our ethos is one hundred percent compatible with the themes in riot grrrl. Fundamentally, riot grrrl is dominated by straight white women talking about the oppression they face in their personal lives, a lot of which stems from romantic relationships with men. We’re lesbians though,” Makoto made a helpless little shrugging motion as Haruka made her way back to them, sitting with her ankle crossed over the opposite knee. “That’s a whole different experience,” she finished saying.

 

“I think one more difference between us and the typical riot grrrl paradigm is that there’s a heavy emphasis on recapturing the innocence that women were forced into giving up too soon,” Haruka added.

 

Michiru’s gaze clapped onto her like a thunderbolt, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

 

“That seems to take the form of exploring and embracing femininity,” Haruka elaborated, then was quick to say, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Just that, well, we all came from Asian families where gender roles are a little bit different, and we were expected to stay young and pure long past the time white girls get forced to grow up. It’s a different experience. And as an adult, I’ve had to work to create a style and an identity I was comfortable with, to redefine womanhood as something that could fit me in it.” She was bombarded with memories of frilly dresses, being scolded into being ladylike, yelled at when she came home covered in dirt and bruises. Femininity had always fit her poorly, and for years she’d struggled with it, wrestled with the question if she was even really a woman. “I’m really not interested in reclaiming my lost girlhood. That was an uncomfortable time for me.”

 

“I think that’s Ruka’s way of saying that feminism can mean different things to different people,” Rei said, looking down at her blunt but painted nails, and her knees poking out of her black pleated skirt. “For some people in the movement, they need to reclaim that space. For some of us, we need to redefine it. But I think the beauty of riot grrrl and grunge and punk and even the girlie movements is that DIY ethos that says, ‘hey, if this isn’t working for you, take it and make it your own.’ There are so many individual messages to be found here, and I think when people look back at this period of time, they’re going to be in awe of our creativity and breadth.”

 

“Well said,” Michiru nodded, looking pleased as punch.

 

Rei gave good interview, apparently, well-spoken and steady in her convictions.

 

“So my last question then is about your music. What are your influences? What do you like to write about?”

 

“Ruka,” Rei asked, leaning around Makoto, “you wanna take the first question?”

 

“Sure,” she shrugged. “I think we all draw a lot of influence from acts like Led Zeppelin, The Grateful Dead, Rush, Queen; jam bands and experimental rock. That’s definitely how I learned to play. The punk movement is a favorite for me; bands like The Talking Heads, Blondie, The Ramones. I love Patti Smith.”

 

“Who doesn’t?” Michiru murmured with a grin.

 

“No one I want to be friends with,” Haruka shot back, laughing. “As much as I love that big stadium rock sound, I really, really love seeing what musicians can do when things are stripped down as well. I think that’s when your skill with an instrument is really apparent.”

 

“Is that why you keep your band so small?” Michiru asked.

 

Haruka shrugged. “Maybe. It certainly presents an interesting challenge when we’re writing. But more than that, it can just be difficult to balance a lot of different personalities when you’re creating. Sometimes synergy is better found in small numbers. Not that we wouldn’t be open to adding more members, but they’d have to be the _right_ members.”

 

Makoto and Rei murmured their agreement.

 

Leaning forward to catch Michiru’s attention, Rei cleared her throat. “And as far as writing is concerned, our topics tend to focus a lot on our lived experiences, not just as women, but as gay women of color, as daughters of immigrants, as women of the working class. And sometimes for me, there’s an element of spirituality to my writing.”

 

“I’ve also noticed themes of violence and addiction,” Michiru slid in there seamlessly.

 

Rei glanced furtively at Haruka.

 

Deep-voiced and sardonic, the guitarist replied, “Yes, well, we did say we write from lived experiences. That’s also a part of life, and by allowing it to hide in the darkness, unremarked upon, we allow it to perpetuate.”

 

A moment of silence followed that, then Michiru was tilting her chin in acknowledgment. “Thank you so much for your time today, ladies.” She reached out to stop the tape, dropping the formality of her interviewer persona in the time it took for her to sit back in her chair. “That was really good, you guys. Super informative. I think the readers are going to love it.”

 

“Cool,” Makoto beamed, wrapping her hands around her knees to stand up and stretch.

 

“You sticking around for practice?” Rei asked, climbing off the arm of the couch.

 

Michiru glanced sidelong at Haruka, who shrugged one shoulder and said, “You’re welcome if you want to.”

 

“I could take some more pictures, if that’s okay with you guys,” Michiru replied. “I can catch a later bus.”

 

“Cool,” Makoto repeated, heading for the fridge to grab a beer, which she popped the top on and set on the ground near her kit. “Let’s rock.”

 

* * *

 

 

After a few days of silence, the message took her by surprise, saying, “Hi, Haruka, this is Michiru Kaioh. If you have some time, I’d love for you to look over my piece before it goes to print. Call me back so we can set something up.”

 

Haruka stilled with her head in the fridge, hand hovering over the milk.

 

It was a rare day off for her. Even she needed one every once in a while. So there she was at eleven AM in her pajamas, greasy skin and hair, about to eat half a box of Cheerios out of a gigantic plastic cup because she and Makoto were playing chicken with the dishes.

 

Food first, she decided, tamping down on her immediate instinct to return the call.  

 

Cereal in hand, she walked out into the living room, which was actually her bedroom because they were too broke to afford a two-bedroom, and Haruka was nothing if not a gentleman.

 

In truth, it was practicality.

 

Makoto had more clothes than she did and needed the closet in the bedroom.

 

Haruka had picked up a highboy dresser at a rummage sale, a retro thing with spindly, gold-tipped legs, but made of real wood. It sat at an angle in one corner of the room, holding almost every article of clothing she owner. The few pieces that needed to be hung draped from a repurposed towel bar behind it. Her bed, the only thing she’d ever spent any real money on, was a comfortable futon they folded up on the rare occasion they had company over. Spoiler alert: they rarely did. She and Makoto were too busy and broke to host lesbian dinner parties and book club meetings.

 

Maybe it was weird to some people that they lived like this.

 

Maybe it’d be weird to Michiru, she amended, perching on the edge of her futon to eat, and staring at the guitars she kept on hooks on the wall, and the orange bucket chair beneath them.

 

Normally, Haruka didn’t mind the way she lived. A lot of people she knew were making ends meet the best they could. Makoto worked three jobs because nobody wanted to hire her full-time. Rei still lived at home to save money. Usa shared a rental with five other people. In comparison to that, Haruka felt lucky. She had a room to herself; space if she wanted it, company if she didn’t; and she and Makoto never fought over the bathroom.

 

But thinking about Michiru, whose mannerisms were glossy and elegant even if her clothes weren’t, wondering what to do, if anything, about that warm ember in her chest, Haruka couldn’t help but to wonder if they were even on the same level.

 

Of course, that was assuming an awful lot, namely that Michiru was even into girls; chiefly, that she was into _Haruka_.

 

“Putting the cart before the horse,” she muttered aloud, crunching loudly and slurping back milk.

 

She did call Michiru back though and agreed to swing by the campus later.

 

Michiru sounded excited as she gave out directions, tone warm as she said, “I hope you don’t mind coming to the art rooms. I figured we could look at my negatives together and finalize photo choices.”

 

“If you really want my opinion,” Haruka hesitated, not sure if she was really qualified.

 

“Well, I have ideas, of course, but I want to make sure you’re happy as well. I don’t want to make a bunch of prints then have to swap out. Supplies are expensive, and I have to schedule darkroom time…” She sighed. “It’s a pain.”

 

“Alright,” Haruka agreed. “Then I’ll meet you at the art building at three.”

 

Fortunately, the bus dropped off right in front of it, so she didn’t have to go wandering around campus, and Michiru met her out front with a paper cup of coffee in each hand.

 

She held one out to Haruka, seemingly embarrassed. “I’m sure it’s not as good as yours, but I wanted to thank you for coming out somehow.”

 

As Haruka took the coffee from her, Michiru tucked a long strand of wavy, blue hair behind her ear. That was about the time she realized that Michiru was kind of dressed up. Her hair was loose, and she was wearing a black babydoll dress patterned with bright yellow sunflowers and green leaves.

 

Haruka had also unwittingly put more effort into her appearance, hair coiffed, looking sleek in black-on-black, nervous about overdoing it though, sending out the wrong signals. She wasn’t sure where Michiru stood on the spectrum, if this was really anything. Yeah, they’d had a moment, maybe - maybe more than one - but that didn’t mean shit. Haruka had plenty of moments with girls that went nowhere before.

 

She sipped out of the plastic lid, the bitterness telling her that the pot had sat on the burner a little too long, but smiled in thanks regardless. It was the thought that counted. “Thanks.”

 

Michiru gave her one of those quietly pleased smiles, pinking up her cheeks, and replied, “You’re welcome. Let’s head upstairs.”

 

Trailing a little behind Michiru, they picked their way up the front steps to the heavy double doors, and stepped into a wide hallway with doors and artwork alternating all the way down. Students milled here and there, but most walked with purpose, brushing past them, heading to and from class.

 

It had been a long time since Haruka was in a classroom, and it felt awkward to be back even though she didn’t really stand out from the crowd. She followed Michiru up the stairs to the second floor, where they slipped into one of the interior rooms, a windowless work space lined with more doors. A brown haired boy with huge, wire-rimmed glasses looked up from a binder, owlishly, then turned back down to his work, uninterested in them.

 

“The work space is shared,” Michiru explained, “so people have a lit area to look at negatives and prints, do coloring and matting, et cetera, but we reserve darkrooms so nobody busts in and ruins the development process by letting in a bunch of light.”

 

She grabbed a spot at a long table with a scarred, wooden top, then gestured at the stool next to her. “Why don’t you have a seat, enjoy your coffee while I dig out my stuff?”

 

Haruka waited patiently, leaning over the table with one foot on the stool rung, a sip here and there, but mostly interested in Michiru’s hands as she dug a binder similar to brown-haired boy’s out of her bag, and flipped through pages of negatives, her nails shiny and manicured, but clipped short and practically round.

 

“Here we go,” she pointed. “The Triple Moon negatives start here with the open mic performance. Ignore these,” Michiru told her, zipping her fingernail across the bottom two rows. “This is a different subject. I marked the shots I like with a little blue dot on the sleeve.”

 

She dug out a small magnifying glass from the binder pocket. With a little smile, she demonstrated, “Just hold it up to your eye like this and you can view the negative a little better.”

 

With a delicate grasp, Haruka plucked up the magnifying glass and leaned over the sheet, moving to the first marked negative. It was a shot of all three of them on the small stage at Coffee Haus, Rei bent over in the foreground screaming into the mic, Haruka to her right and a little behind. The pose gave a clear view of Makoto in the background too, her ponytail mid-flip.

 

“Nice,” she murmured, and moved to the next one. It was similar in angle, but less dynamic than the previous picture. “I like the first one better. This looks a little stiff to me.”

 

“That’s what I was thinking too,” Michiru agreed, placing a gentle hand at the small of Haruka’s back and leaning in close to look over her shoulder at the negatives. Her breath smelled like citrus candies. “But if the other shots are more action-oriented, it might be good to have one where your faces are all shown clearly.”

 

“Why?” Haruka snorted. “We’re musicians, not models.”

 

Giggling near Haruka’s ear, Michiru murmured, “Have you seen yourself? Darling, you could be.”

 

And there was something in her voice that had Haruka blushing.

 

Flustered, she moved the magnifying glass to the next negative.

 

Michiru stayed close the entire time, gentle hand on Haruka’s back, then her shoulder, then leaning back against the table so close they might as well be touching, air warm and sweet between them.

 

Working together, they narrowed their choices down to six photos: the action shot from open mic night, two shots from Chad’s, and three from Rei’s garage.

 

“Let’s blow ‘em up and see how we like them,” Michiru said, leaning in close again to finger her chosen negatives out of the slip with a deft touch. “Come on,” she teased Haruka, “you’re gonna want final approval.”

 

Haruka watched her work, clipping out her chosen negatives.

 

“So you,” she cleared her throat, “your major is photography?”

 

Focused, Michiru spared a moment only to shake her head. “Fine arts,” she answered shortly. “Journalism minor, if you’re wondering how I got into Alt Press.”

 

“Wasn’t,” Haruka replied, a little frown on her face. “Not trying to check your street cred.”

 

Michiru set down the scissors, glancing up with a little huff of breath that fluttered her bangs. She pouted almost imperceptibly. “I was being a bitch?” she guessed.

 

“A little.”

 

“It’s a hazard. College hierarchy. Everybody goes after the art students. You learn to get kinda defensive of the whole ‘what’s your major’ question.” She shrugged one shoulder, then gathered up her clipped negatives and fat photography binder. “Sorry,” Michiru added with a sheepish smile.

 

“It’s okay,” Haruka told her. “You don’t have to be defensive with me though. I’m not part of all this.” She waved grandly at the classroom, the building, the grounds beyond.

 

This city on a hill was not Haruka’s place. She couldn’t afford it, and wouldn’t have wanted to. When enlightenment was only for the educated, and education could only be afforded by the wealthy, it lacked the power to create change. The rules of academia - the petty in-fighting, weird rivalries, whatever else went on beyond these golden gates - were beyond Haruka. She was just here to cinch this deal, maybe figure out if Michiru was into girls or not.

 

“Sorry,” Michiru repeated, then apologetically. “Why don’t you come with me? You can help me with the cropping before I print. I can, um, show you more about the process.” Walking over one of the interior doors, Michiru did a quick knock to check it was still unoccupied, then popped the solid door open. “I like to blow up everything into eight-by-tens first to check the quality of the shot before I print them to size. It takes a little longer though. That okay?”

 

“Um, yeah, I suppose.” Haruka hesitated, glancing away for a second before she stepped into the dark. “Oh shit.”

 

Michiru giggled, reaching around Haruka to flip on a red light. A moment later, the sound of a fan whirring kicked in.

 

The space was little more than a closet with a long counter along the wall with a few trays full of liquid, a small sink in a corner of the counter, and some kind of equipment.

 

“The enlarger,” Michiru said, placing a fond hand on the flat base. “This is where the magic happens.” She fingered the edge of a small, floating tray. “This is where the negative gets placed. Then you use these to adjust the focus and size.” She touched a couple of knobs on the side of what looked like old of those old fashioned cameras with the accordion fold on the end.

 

Quietly, Michiru pulled the door shut and locked it, sealing them in the dark and quiet.

 

“We leave the fan on because the developer and the stop-bath can get you kinda loopy if there’s no ventilation,” she said, shuffling Haruka further into the room so she could set down her binder on the counter. “Hope you don’t mind the sound.”

 

The wheezing hum _was_ kind of loud, but Haruka figured it would turn to white noise in no time. “It’s fine,” she replied.

 

Even in the ghastly light, Michiru’s grin was cute. “Good. Let me just set up. I’ll knock these prints out in no time.”

 

For her part, Haruka determined to stay out of the way. She backed up against the sink, resting her ass against the ledge while Michiru got ready with the first negative in the slide.

 

Stepping close to the enlarger, she focused in on the first shot, cropping it by tilting the negative, and fiddling with some dials.

 

On the white platform below, Haruka could see a ghost of the print that would be.

 

Every once in a while, Michiru would glance down at it to see if it was to her satisfaction. Finally, she dug a pack of paper from her binder, and placed a single sheet on the platform. She flipped on the light one last time, searing the image forever onto the paper.

 

Michiru moved quickly, plucking the paper - still blank to Haruka’s eye - off the platform, and putting it face down into the first of the trays.

 

“Developer, stop-bath, then just plain water for a quick rinse,” Michiru explained, pointing to each one in turn. “Easy-peasy.”

 

With a wicked look at Haruka, she asked, “You wanna do the next one?”

 

“You sure?” Haruka asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

The girl just nodded, eager, and pointed to the machine. “It’ll be fun,” she chirped.

 

Still moving slow, Haruka approached the machine, eyeing it the way one might eye a tiger in the wild.

 

Michiru chuckled at her approach, then said, “If you want, I’ll load the negative.”

 

“Good plan,” Haruka agreed.

 

She was quick about it, certain in her movements, before shooting a hand out, lightning quick, and tugging Haruka in front of her. “Okay,” she began, flipping on the light, her breasts pressing up against Haruka’s back, “so look through the viewfinder. Is the negative straight?”

 

Ignoring how hard her heart was suddenly pounding, Haruka bent to look. “No, it’s cocked.”

 

Michiru guided her hand to the negative holder. “Keep your eye on the viewfinder,” she said, voice soft next to Haruka’s ear, “and slowly correct it.”

 

With minuscule touches of her fingertip, Haruka moved the negative fully into frame and straightened it out.

 

“Now what?” she breathed, somehow not wanting to break the quiet of the darkroom.

 

Instead of telling her, Michiru again took her hand, then moved it up to one of the knobs. “Adjust the focus. I gotta move the print.” Stepping back, her entire demeanor shifted to business-like, plucking the print out with tongs, which Haruka could now see had actual image on it, and swishing it through the stop-bath.

 

Haruka preoccupied herself with getting the focus right, listening to the gentle lapping of chemicals in the tray, the subtle scrape of paper on the bottom.

 

Michiru had this air of quiet confidence about her all the time, but here in the quiet, it turned contemplative, peaceful. Like the liquid swishing in the tray, she seemed to flow.

 

Before she knew it, Michiru had rinsed the paper off in the final tray and hung it from a clip over the sink to drip dry.

 

Haruka started to step back from the enlarger, but Michiru held her in place with a hand at the small of her back. Instead, she squeezed behind Haruka again. The hem of her dress brushed against the back of Haruka’s thighs. She felt it like an electric current even through the denim.

 

“Okay,” Michiru started, “now move to the bottom knob, and blow it up to match this line.” Reaching around Haruka, she traced a slow finger along two tape lines. “Re-check your focus and framing, then we’ll get the paper.”

 

Propping her chin on Haruka’s shoulder, Michiru watched her work, murmuring soft encouragements that Haruka barely heard because all her attention was focused on not focusing on the way Michiru was touching her there in the dark, and not fucking up this stupid photograph that she didn’t even really care about, and why was she still there? Oh, yeah, because dumb lesbian brain was a sucker for the small pretty.

 

Her fingers shook as she adjusted the settings, then readjusted.

 

“Great,” Michiru breathed. “You’re ready for paper. Turn the light off.”

 

Haruka did as she asked. Spots danced in front of her eyes as they adjusted again to the dimness.

 

Michiru side-stepped to grab her pack of paper off the counter again, fishing out a single sheet from the black plastic liner. “Line it up,” she instructed, “then flip the light again to expose it.”

 

Carefully following instructions, Haruka got through the process, then watched, relieved, as Michiru swept the paper away, smiling like a proud parent. “You did well, Ruka, really well.” And into the developer it went.

 

As Michiru waited with the tongs, Haruka couldn’t help but to ask, “So is this, like, your thing? You take girls in here where it’s all dark and quiet, woo them with your photography know-how?”

 

A slow smile spread across Michiru’s face. She looked up, tongs in hand, and tucked her hair behind her ear with her free hand, trailing a fingertip along her skin. “Why? Is it working?”

 

“Maybe,” Haruka shrugged with false nonchalance.

 

Glancing coyly from beneath a heavy lidded gaze, Michiru regarded her for a moment. Cockily, she said, “It’s working.”

 

Then she pulled the paper from the developer into the stop-bath.

 

Watching the rest of the process while fighting down a blush was interesting. She wasn’t normally this much of a mess in front of other girls. For some reason, a lot of women found her intimidating. Maybe it was the androgynous looks. Maybe it was her aloof demeanor. Maybe it was just because she was in a band, and there was a certain mystique that surrounded musicians, even broke ones, this idea of the tortured genius spilling ink instead of blood. Haruka stuffed her hands in her back pockets, trying not to be obvious as she watched Michiru.

 

Michiru herself was somewhat of an enigma. She had that otherworldly artist thing going for her. She moved with grace and poise that spoke of the upper class. Haruka bet she knew which fork was which. Yet this fae creature walked among mortals. She was interested in women’s rights and social justice. She worked for a damn underground paper, for fuck’s sake. So who was Michiru really? A mystery that Haruka wanted to uncover, obviously.

 

After Michiru put up the latest picture, she stepped back into Haruka’s space, bold yet playful. “So, Haruka Tenoh, you into it?”

 

Well, yeah.

 

Yeah, she was into it. She wasn't sure how much, but damn, she was intrigued.

 

Michiru smiled up at her, then curled her fingers around the button placket on Haruka's denim jacket. She tugged slowly, gently, but inexorably toward her.

 

There was time to duck out if Haruka wanted to.

 

She didn't.

 

Her breath went shallow, anticipatory. It was different being the pursued instead of the pursuer. Exciting.

 

She put her hand on Michiru's waist over her soft, sunflower dress.

 

Michiru's lips touched hers, the slightest bit moist, a delicate, fluttery thing that left Haruka wanting more. She didn't close her eyes, not that time. It was like she wanted to study Haruka, figure out how best to take her apart.

 

Haruka tilted her head just so, lining up to deepen the kiss, but waiting. Waiting until Michiru decided, because she was enjoying this flip in dynamics and wanted to see how far Michiru would go.

 

The other girl cradled her lower lip between hers, lipping sweetly until she nuzzled in and took it deeper.

 

Haruka's breath hitched at the careful consideration behind each move, charmed, softened. She breathed in Michiru's candy scent and lifted her other hand to join the first, framing a tiny waist in her much bigger hands. Musician's hands. That's how she thought of them, long fingers and palms, a little calloused in a way that told a story. Short nails though because even if it helped when playing acoustic, it wasn't practical for a practicing lesbian.

 

Really, Michiru's nails should have been the first clue. They were way too short for a straight girl.

 

Michiru made a small sound of encouragement against her mouth and kissed her harder, parted lips and a hint of tongue. She began sliding her hands up Haruka's chest, between her breasts, to curl around her neck, a possessive hand carding through the short hairs at her nape.

 

Haruka couldn't help but to groan, quietly undone, as Michiru directed the kiss. A quick snatch of air, then she was slotting their mouths together, open-mouthed to flick her tongue against Haruka's.

 

The sound of their breathing was loud in that sacred space, the red-soaked darkness, as Michiru backed Haruka up against the work counter, her ass digging into the edge. A pleased hum left her as Haruka slouched against it, tangling their legs together so that Michiru's thigh was pressed against her mound. Not indecently, but getting there.

 

Their tongues stroked against each other, Michiru's like a dagger, precise in how she wielded it. She taught Haruka how she liked to be kissed, playful dueling and a quick suck of the tongue. The small bead of her tongue ring brushed Haruka. She pulled back enough to say, "You can suck on my tongue ring, if you want. It's nice. Just don't pull too hard."

 

Haruka couldn't help but to smile ever so slightly, but she was nothing if not interested in pleasing her partner. So with a swipe of her tongue, she pulled on Michiru's tongue ring, the bar sliding out of the until it hit the end.

 

Michiru moaned, the loudest noise she'd made thus far, as Haruka sucked on the tip of her tongue, playing with the little bead to shift her barbell. It set her off, going up on tiptoe so that she had better leverage to kiss Haruka, sweeping into her mouth, playfulness giving way to something heated.

 

The hand draped over Haruka’s shoulders moved, but the one fisted in her hair remained. Michiru cupped her, rubbed at the seam of her jeans, and when Haruka moaned from the stimuli, she started.

 

Breaking for breath, Michiru and Haruka stared at each other with wet lips parted, eyes open wide. Then Michiru grinned. “Got a little carried away there,” she said, voice husky.

 

“We could get more carried away,” Haruka suggested, smirking.

 

Michiru laughed, petting the back of her neck, then slipping down to hook her fingers in the vee of Haruka’s t-shirt. “How about this: how about I take you out - your choice - and then when we get back, if you’re feeling it, we can continue this?”

 

“I’m down,” she said, feeling warm at the thought.

 

Pressing a hard, quick kiss against Haruka’s lips, Michiru sighed and said, “I’m so glad. I’ve been thinking about eating you out for, like, ever.”

 

The blush burned up Haruka’s cheeks, not that Michiru could really tell that in the ghastly light. But she must have betrayed herself in her expression, because Michiru grinned like quicksilver and asked, “Too blunt?”

 

“No,” Haruka replied with a slow swallow. “Just unexpected.”

 

“Good. I like that: surprising people.” Taking a step back, Michiru looked at her appraisingly. “I get the feeling you can roll with the punches though.”

 

After that, Michiru did another quick change, turning back to her work with an apologetic look. “I can only reserve the room for so long, and I’ve still got to blow up those other shots.”

 

Haruka kept her company, chatting lightly in the intimate setting, watching her work with much more efficacy than Haruka had. Once she concentrated, she was quick and sure. She did something with the negative to crop it in, making it look much neater. It was fun to watch another artist at work, even if the medium was different than her own.

 

By the time their prints were all up and drying, Haruka knew where she wanted to go to spend time with Michiru, and knew that Michiru would be up for the adventure.

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

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